


All Along the Watch Tower

by Dyslexic_Marvel



Series: Change of Pace [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Anal, BIRDIE!, Blankets, Bruce would be more than happy to give them., Clint Needs a Hug, Doctoring Doctor Banner, Eventual Hulkeye, Hulk loves Clint, M/M, O.C.M.S, PTSD Clint, Routine, Slow Build, Twitchy Clint, Wagon Wheel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-19 15:28:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1474804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dyslexic_Marvel/pseuds/Dyslexic_Marvel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since Clint’s been back he’s barely eaten, barely spoken, barely moved. Bruce can only imagine how little sleep he’s been gotten. None, based on the circles in his eyes. Bruce always found him sitting in the same set of bay windows facing out over the city. Will Banner manage to find away to get Clint to come out of his cocoon and join the living again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Keeping Watch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: This is an edited version of this chapter, Beta edited by the wonderful qwanderer!! She did an amazing job so Kudos to her! 
> 
>  
> 
> Since Clint’s been back he’s barely eaten, barely spoken, barely moved. Bruce can only imagine how little sleep he’s been gotten. None, based on the circles in his eyes. Bruce always found him sitting in the same set of bay windows facing out over the city. Will Banner manage to find away to get Clint to come out of his cocoon and join the living again?

All Along the Watch Tower:

Part One: Keeping Watch

 

Since Clint had been back, he’d barely eaten, barely spoken, barely moved. Bruce could only imagine how little sleep he’d been getting. None, based on the circles under his eyes. Bruce always found him sitting in the same set of bay windows facing out over the city. He was always in exactly the same position. One leg braced on the windowsill, the other over the side, just touching the floor. The only differences in his position were whether he had his arms crossed over his chest, resting on his bent knee, or with his head down on his arms as well. Even when Bruce had walked through and seen him seemingly resting, the second he heard Bruce’s foot steps his head would shoot up and his whole body would go completely rigid. Bruce would always feel bad he’d disturbed him when he came through either on his way to the kitchen, or to read. Why Clint seemed to choose here as his perch, Bruce wasn’t sure. He never asked. He’d just come in with a book, or tablet in hand and they’d make eye contact momentarily. Clint would nod in acknowledgment and Bruce would try to smile. Clint normally turned his head back to the window before he had the chance. The only time he didn’t find Clint in his spot was when Clint had to check in with S.H.I.E.L.D. 3 days a week, at exactly the same time. The second he came back he’d go up to his room to change out of uniform and go right back to his spot.

 

One day, Bruce left some blankets and a pillow at Clint’s perch. Hoping it might encourage him to get a little sleep, or at least to make him more comfortable. It wasn’t exactly the cushiest spot in the Tower. He came back down a while later to see Clint completely burrowed in the blankets up to his eyes. He seemed to be hugging the pillow to his chest rather than using it for his head, but as long as it helped. They made eye contact again, and Bruce was already smiling. Clint narrowed his eyes and glanced at the blankets quick before looking back up.

 

“Thought you should at least be comfortable. It’s probably cold against the window.” He tried to play it off as it wasn’t anything. He fiddled with the book in his hand.

 

Clint seemed to blush a little and pull the blankets up a little higher. He was so muffled Bruce almost missed it, but he heard a soft, “Thanks, Doc…” before Barton turned back to the window, leaning his head against the glass.

 

Bruce smiled and continued out of the room.

 

 

A few days later he caught Clint getting into his spot. _He’s lost so much weight since the Invasion… probably down 15 pounds._ Bruce knew what starvation did to the body, and it was never pretty. Bruce was in shock at how thin he looked. Bruce realized that over the past few weeks he’d never seen Clint eat. He’d assumed he wasn’t around when he did, but based on the weight loss, he was wrong. Bruce just stared while Clint looked at him, blanket in hand, the side of his mouth almost twitching into a smile, but not quite making it. He started to coil himself up in his usual position when Bruce broke in.

 

“I was about to make lunch. Would you, ah, want anything?” Bruce fidgeted with the tablet he had been reading.

 

Clint paused at the question but didn’t look up. Slowly he finished coiling himself up. He replied, “No thanks, Doc.” And went back to looking out the window.

 

Bruce should have suspected that he wouldn’t take him up on it. _He really needs to eat something_. Bruce left the room and headed to the kitchen. He made himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, slicing up an apple and putting it on a separate plate with a few tablespoons of peanut butter. As he walked back into the common room, Barton was eyeing him again, but his eyes fell to the extra plate Bruce was carrying. Approaching slowly, Bruce walked over to Clint, slowly extending the apple slices.

 

“Just a little protein.” He raised his eyebrows hopefully. “Please? Blame it on the doctor in me.” Hoping Clint would take it.

 

Clint looked up at him and back down to the plate. Slowly he untangled one arm from under the blankets, taking the plate in a trembling hand. He looked up at Bruce and managed a lopsided smile. “Thanks, Doc.”

 

Bruce considered it a win to just get him to take the plate, even if he didn’t eat. Bruce turned and as he went to walk out of the room, he saw Clint nibbling on a piece of a granny smith apple. Bruce felt victorious in more ways than one.

 

 

Bruce tried to make it a thing. He now knew the times of Clint’s appointments, just from them being the same time week after week. Whenever Clint would come down from changing there’d be a plate of something small, waiting for him. Bruce started avoiding the common room during those times, to give Clint a little time to eat in peace. He didn’t want make Clint feel that his presence was shoving the food down Clint’s throat. After a while he’d come through and find Clint had laid the empty plate at his feet and was curled up again looking a little more comfortable. Bruce would come in, motion to the plate, glancing at the kitchen. Clint would nod and Bruce would take the dishes away to be washed. Smiling triumphantly as he did.

 

Slowly after a few weeks he started leaving Clint mini meals instead of snacks. And soon he was eating light sandwiches. Bruce didn’t want to start him off on anything heavy and have him get sick. One day when he came to get Clint’s dishes, he arrived to see Clint not in his spot. Anxiety rose to the surface. _Was he alright? Had S.H.I.E.L.D. not released him for some reason?_ Just as he started to really worry, frantically rubbing his hands together, he heard a shuffling to his left. He turned suddenly and scared the crap out of Clint, who also jumped. When Bruce saw him in front of him though, he couldn’t help but huff a laugh. Clint was still completely wrapped up in the blanket. Head to toe, covered, only his nose and one hand sticking out, pulling up the dragging bits so he wouldn’t trip.

 

When Clint saw Bruce laugh, he poked his head out a little bit, looked down and huffed a laugh himself. “I look like a walking burrito.” He spoke, looking up. His voice sounded rough from lack of use. But he had a small smile on his face. _Small victories,_ Bruce thought. “Figured I should take care of my own dishes for once,” he said with another small smile.

 

“I don’t mind,” Bruce said with a shrug of his shoulders.

 

“I know Doc.” Another smile. “I know.” Clint then headed back to his spot, his blank expression coming back.

 

“Would you mind if…” Bruce started but thought it would be best not to push his luck. He didn’t know where the thought came from anyway. Clint turned his head and have him a questioning glance, wondering what he wanted.

 

“Mind…?”

 

“Would you mind if I ah, sit and, read?” he said, eyeing the couch.

 

Clint paused, just looking at Bruce for a while. Bruce didn’t know if he’d pushed too far into Clint’s space or not. Just as he started to fidget and start to turn towards the door, “Sure Doc,” Clint said, breaking eye contact. Bruce smiled again and went to go sit down. Once he heard the couch dip and a mumbled thanks from Bruce he added, “Just don’t expect me to carry the conversation.” Sending Bruce a sideways glance and another fleeting smile.

 

Bruce just smiled back and got out his tablet. Both enjoying the silence that surprisingly wasn’t awkward at all.

 

 

One day when Bruce was leaving the kitchen to drop off Clint’s food he found Clint already standing at his spot, looking out. Something had happened, and that something was not good. Clint stood, leaning against the glass, fist clenched and trembling. He was still in his uniform, but the blanket was still draped around his shoulders. _He’s never back this early, let alone still dressed._ Bruce knew a sudden change in routine was never a good sign.

 

Clint bristled when he heard footsteps, glanced at the door but relaxed a bit when he saw it was only Bruce. “Hey Doc,” he said through gritted teeth. Turning back to the window.

 

Bruce slowly walked into the room as if he was approaching a wild animal. He had no idea what happened or how Clint would react to company. But Bruce had the feeling he shouldn’t be left alone at the moment. “Lunch?” he said, trying to sound positive and hopefully not let Clint backpedal into a hole again.

 

“No thanks, Doc,” was all he said.

 

Bruce put the food down for him anyway, on the far side of the windowsill, but instead of leaving for his lab like he normally did at this time of day, he stayed on the far side of the window and joined in watching the city. At first Clint just stared him down, wondering what his angle was. But when Bruce just kept watching he city, not even glancing his way, he relaxed a bit more and went back to watching the city himself. After a while, neither of them were really sure how long, Bruce broke the silence. “I see why you watch the city so much.” Clint shot him a look that was vaguely shocked. Bruce still didn’t look at him but continued, “It’s really peaceful. To know something so chaotic up close looks almost serene from far away.” Bruce had a soft grin on his face. Clint wondered how he’d never noticed how at ease Bruce looked when he wasn’t coming out of a transformation. Which, he realized was really the only other time Clint’s seen him besides their passings in this room.

 

Clint looked back outside, to the city he almost destroyed, but also helped save. Softly saying, “Exactly, Doc…”

 

 

Bruce never asked what set him off that day. If Clint wanted to talk about it he’d say something. Bruce wished he would. It took them almost a week to get back into their normal pattern of Clint eating, doing the dishes alone and then Bruce joining to read. The first few days Clint hadn’t left his spot at all again. The fact that he no longer had his meetings at S.H.I.E.L.D. was also probably a factor. But with a little time, Clint started eating and moving around a little bit again.

 

One day when Bruce had come down with his own blanket in hand, since it was starting to get cold out, Clint actually turned to face him when he sat down. Well, not so much turned, but shifted his position minutely towards Bruce’s direction. Bruce noticed and thought it was a good sign. He sat down in his usual spot on the far side of the couch and began reading a new article that had been released on radiation therapy. He thought that was an oxymoron in most cases, but was willing to give the article the benefit of the doubt.

 

After an hour or two Clint randomly chimed in, “I was almost approved for field duty.” Gaining Bruce’s attention immediately. He didn’t need to ask when, obviously, the ‘almost’ was what Clint had been tearing himself apart about. Bruce just set down his reading and shifted on the couch to face Clint head on even though he was almost on the other side of the room. He didn’t say anything, wanting Clint to lead the conversation. After another few minutes Clint continued, “They said despite my weight loss, I was physically approved for service,” he paused as anger rose in his voice. His eyes started to water from the pressure of holding in what was obviously some deep seated emotions. “Except for one damn thing,” he said through gritted teeth as if it was venom.

 

He soon started to shake in anger; Bruce realized he probably wasn’t going to continue without Bruce leading him a little. “What was the problem?” he asked, trying to both sound engaged but not overly criticizing, lest he scare Clint off.

 

Clint gave almost a snarl before thrusting his hand out from under the covers. “ _THIS,”_ he sneered. Bruce looked at his hand and realized he hadn’t been shaking from anger; while that probably wasn’t helping, his hands trembled so much the rest of him almost vibrated along with them. His hand was twitching with his fingers unconsciously beginning to curl and uncurl. Both Bruce and Clint stared for a few moments until Clint spoke. “They said there’s nothing _physically_ wrong with me. That it’s all in my head.”

 

“It probably is,” Bruce chimed in. The look Clint gave him was hard enough to cut glass. But when he started to look hurt as well, Bruce continued. “Think about it. For the past few months you’ve done nothing but sit in the same spot, staring out the same window, barely eating and obviously not sleeping. The lack of sleep alone would be enough to cause the tremors, combine all of the symptoms, and Clint, honestly you’re lucky you’re not _dead_.” Bruce paused to give Clint a chance to disagree with him, but he stayed silent. His hardened glare softening, but not entirely forgiving. He slowly turned his head back to the window

 

“Clint.” Bruce pleaded, making him stop. He slowly turned to face Bruce again. “How much sleep have you gotten since the invasion? Honestly….”

 

Clint’s brows furrowed at the question and he looked to the floor. Not back to the window, just straight down, like he knew his answer was going to be a disappointment.

 

“Exactly, Clint,” Bruce said, slowly walking over to the window. Clint pulled the blanket a little tighter as Bruce got closer. He sat down on the far side of the window so Clint could still have his space but know there was support near. Or at least Bruce hoped he’d be viewed as support. Once Bruce was settled, he gave himself a few moments to compose himself, and allow Clint the chance to turn back to the window. Bruce then began, “Lets say the doctors are wrong.” That seemed to pique Clint’s interest enough to pull his head out from the covers a bit. Satisfied he had Clint’s attention, he continued. “Lets say there is something physically wrong with you. Some unknown secondary condition left over by the staff. Just with you being human, the severe lack of sleep would certainly not help whatever the underlying cause is; in fact, it may be intensifying your symptoms. We honestly don’t have anyway of knowing until we start removing variables.” Bruce was trying to sound scientific and professional, but he new personally all too well what severe insomnia could do to you. “Lack of sleep… it messes with your head,” Bruce finally finished. Needed a moment himself to get his emotions in order.

 

Clint narrowed his eyes and looked back out the window. “And what would you know about something fucking with your head?” His voice was suddenly hard.

 

At that Bruce bristled and just stared at him, more hurt than he probably should have been. After a few breaths Bruce thought he should stop this here before either of them said anything (else) they regretted. Bruce slowly stood up, grabbed his tablet and articles he’d left on the couch and started to head to the lab. As he left, he paused at the doorframe, needing to say his piece, lest he leave angry. Without looking in Clint’s direction he simply stated, “For over a decade now I’ve had a mutinous force of destruction and rage burrowing itself farther and farther into my mind while simultaneously trying to claw its way out.” He paused and glanced at Clint who was staring at him, intently. A little regret visible on his face. Bruce simply stated, “My mind is a battlefield, every moment of every day. And I know if I let myself wallow in self-pity I’d be giving the Other Guy the ultimate chance to take over. Possibly for good.”

 

Bruce straightened from the slightly hunched position he normally had, looked Clint dead in the eye and replied, “That’s how I know about having my mind fucked with. Remember you’re not the only one to not have complete control of themselves.” With that he walked down the hallway trying to think of a new project to start, to keep his mind off of the guilt he was going to feel when Clint went back into his shell.

 

Bruce didn’t bring Clint food or go and read with him the next day or the next few days after. He sent Dumm-E there with sandwiches and such he’d made in his own kitchen instead. He didn’t want Clint to stop eating, no matter how angry he was with the archer. He also knew that if he faced him again, and got anymore attitude like that, he might have a harder time keeping a lid on it. All of which he felt incredibly guilty for. He was supposed to help Clint, he was his teammate. And with no one else around he needed to put his own issues aside and help Clint as best he could. But that was easier said than done with Clint being as downtrodden as he was. Bruce continued with his new experiment in his lab; testing the benefits of different forms of radiation on already irradiated cells.

 

While stuck among his own thoughts and calculations one afternoon, Bruce nearly jumped out of his shoes when something randomly fell from the ceiling. After adjusting his glasses from where he’d managed to knock them off his nose, he picked up the little piece of metal inspecting it. _A screw? What the h…_ and before he could finish that thought, another joined it. And another. And another. He eventually looked up to see the grate on an air vent shift to the side and what appeared to be a giant pile of blankets fall on top of his desk. The blankets landed much harder and more gracefully than a random pile of blankets falling from the ceiling normally would. Once balanced on the table, the pile swiftly jumped to the side, having barely disturbed a thing. As it landed, Clint’s head popped from under a series of folds of the blanket mass. Bruce was definitely in shock. More at Clint being in his lab, having climbed through the air vents to get there.

 

But before he could gather any of his thoughts together Clint suddenly barked, “Nightmares. I have nightmares.”

 

His eyes opened and glanced at Bruce to look for judgment or mockery. He found nothing but concern and interest of sorts. When Bruce didn’t cut him off he continued, painfully slow and awkwardly. “Since the spell, I can’t sleep for more than a few minutes without… panic setting in. Either from a dream or instinct I have no idea. I have no idea why….” Clint couldn’t verbalize anything else about his situation, maybe he didn’t know what else he could say. He started to tremble and he kept looking at his hands and then up at Bruce… almost begging. For what, Bruce didn’t know.

 

Bruce stared at his hands then directly into Clint’s eyes. They looked so tired and yet hypervigilant that when Bruce made eye contact with him, then in Bruce’s head, something clicked. Suddenly the pieces started to fall together and Bruce said, “You can’t keep watch.” His face went blank with recognition. Clint even seemed to freeze. “When you’re asleep you can’t keep a lookout.”

 

Clint just stared at him and then slowly let his gaze drop. “Yeah, that… that’s probably it.” Clint looked like he was calculating all of the things that could happen if he wasn’t awake. His twitching started to increase as he became more and more engrossed in his thoughts. “Shit,” he said, wrapping himself tighter in the blankets.

 

Slowly Bruce stepped closer, allowing Clint time to pull away, but slowly put his hands on Clint's arms. He slowly began rubbing up and down, trying to be soothing and comforting as opposed to restraining. Clint flinched slightly at the touch, but didn’t pull away. As Bruce started to create friction between his hands and the blankets Clint seemed to relax minutely. Still shivering. Another piece fell into place.

 

“You’re always cold,” Bruce said in as low of a voice as possible. Clint didn’t look up, just pulled the blankets higher around his head. Eventually giving a small nod. “Is. Is that what it felt like? Always being cold?”

 

Clint then started to pull completely into himself, crunching over, inadvertently leaning on Bruce who just subtly pulled him into a hug, because he wasn’t about to let him collapse on the floor. Holding him as tight as he dared he just felt Clint almost shake himself apart. He knew then he had sadly been right. After a few moments Bruce slowly started to rub circles across Clint’s back. Putting his other hand between Clint’s shoulder blades, pressing just enough so that Clint knew he was secure.

 

As the tremors slowly started to subside, Clint finally could bring himself to speak. “I’ve read Roger’s file. It said that in moments of stress he feels cold. Like he’s still in the ice.” Clint paused. Bruce just let him speak at his own pace, listening and offering what little support he could. Clint looked so broken then, like he was being eaten away by an invisible force. “It was like following his orders was the only way to stay warm… I didn’t… I wouldn’t have…” Clint could barely get the words out. He started to shake again and actually grabbed the front of Bruce’s shirt, trying to hold on to something as his body rebelled. Bruce just held tighter, pulling Clint’s head to his shoulder, and let him work it out. Making soothing noises as he did. They went through this for a while. Clint would try to explain, and then he’d start shaking.

 

After a while, he seemed to give up. No longer trying to speak. Once he felt he could, Bruce pulled away, just enough so he could look Clint in the eye. Clint didn’t immediately look up, so Bruce slowly brought his hand to Clint’s chin, raising it up. “Do you trust me, Clint?” Clint looked surprised by the seemingly random question. He searched Bruce’s eyes for judgment, or disdain, or annoyance. He found nothing but concern and calm. Slowly he nodded, still not being able to speak affectively. Bruce nodded back. “J.A.R.V.I.S? Can you save my work and shut everything down for me?”

 

“Of course, Sir,” Jarvis said in what sounded like a relieved tone.

 

Clint started trembling minutely. “I didn’t mean to distract you.”

 

“Hey,” Bruce said sternly, still having his arms partially around the other man. “You’re not a distraction or a bother or a problem, Clint. You’re not.” He waited until Clint slowly nodded his head and looked back down. “Come on,” Bruce said, guiding Clint to the elevator. Clint wanted to ask where they were going, but he trusted Bruce and knew he’d find out soon enough. They rode the elevator just 3 floors up and got out at what apparently was Bruce’s floor.

 

Clint had never seen it. He hadn’t seen any floor in the tower besides the common rooms, the range and his own. Bruce’s place looked surprisingly lived in, but neat at the same time. Bruce guided him into his living room and sat him down on the couch. Crouching to eye level, he kept his arms on Clint and said, “I’ll be right back, okay? I’m going to my closet in the bedroom to get something, then I’m going to get us something to drink and I’ll be right back, okay? You don’t have to stay on the couch, but stay in here until I come back, okay?” Bruce didn’t want to sound controlling, but he honestly thought a little outside guidance was what Clint needed right now. He needed to know he could follow instructions and such willingly instead of being forced to. Clint gave a slow nod and pulled the blankets a little tighter. Bruce gave his arms another small squeeze and stood up. He quickly put water on for tea and then headed to his room to grab a few things.

 

When he returned a few minutes later Clint hadn’t left the couch, but had pulled his knees high to his chest, curled up on the far side of the couch, so he could watch as Bruce came in again. He noticed Bruce had changed into flannel sleep pants and a t-shirt. He also had a pile of fresh blankets in his hand. He walked over to Clint and knelt again in front of him, on eye level. He gave a small smile before saying, “You’d been huddled in that same blanket for weeks now, and I have a feeling you haven’t exactly washed it.” He said it with a smile, trying to lighten the mood a little. When Clint didn’t crack a smile, only lowering his eyes, Bruce hoped that comment hadn’t been taken as a criticism. “Why don’t you switch to these fresh ones? Besides the weeks of use, crawling through the ducts to the lab kind of, uh, left residue all over them."

 

At that Clint looked down and noticed in fact he was covered in dust. He actually snorted in amusement but inhaled some dust while he did it and frantically started sneezing. Bruce had to stifle a laugh at the suddenly sneezing fit. He pretended to cough himself as he reached over for tissues. Clint was blushing when he turned back, covering his nose with his hand. Bruce again had to hold himself back from laughing and passed him the box. Clint mumbled what Bruce assumed to be a thank you and began blowing his nose. At that Bruce heard the kettle whistle. Bruce looked at Clint, gave a quick glance at the kitchen before looking back at him, making sure he knew Bruce was only going to the kitchen and back. Clint nodded and kept blowing his nose.

 

As Bruce went to the kitchen, he had to smile. At least the tension was broken. He was glad Clint had followed him to his place, he honestly didn’t think he would. Bruce’s place had some windows, but none as prominent as the ones in the common room, and none that Clint couldn’t easily curl up on, so he hoped it wouldn’t become an issue. After a few minutes he returned to the living room and his heart leapt a little bit at the sight. Clint had carefully folded the dirty blanket, putting it to the side and wrapped himself up in the new ones. He looked more comfortable and while he was still a little covered in dust himself, at least he wasn’t surrounded by it. At some point Bruce would have to try and get him to take a shower. But not now, Clint needed to sleep. Bruce walked over and put Clint’s cup on the side table, by his elbow so he could reach it, but not forcing it on him. He sat on the other side of the couch, drinking his own.

 

“J.A.R.V.I.S? Can you raise the temperature of this room gradually by 15 degrees and dim lights to 30 percent please?” Clint’s ears perked up and he gave Bruce a questioning look. Suddenly a little frantic. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to read, or become distracted. I’ll keep watch. 15 degrees should be enough of a change to help with your shivering and the tea is a decaf chamomile, nice and relaxing bur warm.” Bruce smiled, really, really hoping he wasn’t overstepping here. To his surprise after a few moments, Clint slowly, and somewhat jerkily, reached behind him and grabbed his mug. He curled both hands around it and visibly, his hands slowed their trembling. Not completely, but a vast improvement. Clint took a long sip and visually relaxed. They sat like that in silence as the room heated up, Bruce shifting his attention to look out the far window so Clint didn’t feel scrutinized. When he felt a shift on the couch he turned to see Clint setting down his now empty tea mug and curling up along the couch, tucked into the corner against the arm. Obviously coiled as tightly as he could, but not entirely uncomfortable. After a few moments, for the first time in days it appeared he’d stopped shaking entirely. Bruce smiled again, looking at him, hoping this was a huge step in progress. Clint made eye contact with Bruce one last time, Bruce gave a nod and turned his attention back to the window. Watching. Clint slowly closed his eyes, turned to the back of the couch and softly whispered,

 

“Thanks, Doc.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments welcome! This ended up being a much longer fic than I anticipated so the second chapter is 2/3 of the story. 
> 
> Please feel free to comment and let me know what you think!


	2. Wagon Wheel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: This is an edited version of this chapter, Beta edited by the wonderful qwanderer!! She did an amazing job so Kudos to her! 
> 
> Clint and Bruce fall into routines and Clint keeps improving. Everything changes when they are summoned to assemble, Clint included. The Hulk apparently likes Clint, and Clint gets approved for active duty. And there's some fun, sexy bits at the end. ;)

 

All Along the Watch Tower:

Part Two: Wagon Wheel

 

Wagon Wheel

 

 

When Bruce woke up in the morning, he was sweating like hell. At first he hadn’t remembered turning up the temperature, but as soon as he saw a corner of Clint’s blanket on the other side of the couch he remembered. He slowly stretched from his huddled position on the couch, not quite being able to bring himself to open his eyes yet. He apparently fell asleep leaning across the arm of the couch, his head at a weird angle. He knew he was going to be sore for a while. Bruce slowly leaned over the back of the couch, cracking his spine as he did. He slumped back down and started to rub his eyes and feel for his glasses. They weren’t on the side table so he wasn’t sure where they’d gotten to. He figured he’d left them in another room. He started to stand, stretching again, and turning to Clint’s side of the couch. “Morning, Clint….” But when he looked up, Clint wasn’t there. Only his blanket remained.

 

His mind started to flood with worst case scenarios when from the other side of the room he heard, “Morning Doc! You slept like a log!”

 

Bruce whipped around and couldn’t believe his eyes. Clint was sans blankets, in Bruce’s kitchen. Cooking. Bruce’s eyes must have expressed how shocked he was because Clint continued. “A good night’s sleep and I feel like a million bucks, Doc, that really did the trick,” he replied, nonchalantly flipping the pancake he had in the frying pan. “Hope you don’t mind I kind of raided your kitchen. I’ve been craving pancakes for weeks but wasn’t about to ask you to make me breakfast in bed.” He had such an honest smile on his face that Bruce couldn’t help but return it.

 

“That’s, this is incredible, Clint. I mean….” Bruce didn’t even know where to begin. He just stood and watched as Clint flipped the pancakes, adding the finished ones to the stack to his right. Pouring hot water into mugs when he heard the kettle whistle like nothing was more natural. Bruce must have stood there gaping for ages before Clint turned to him again.

 

“You know, Doc, these are going to get cold if you don’t get over here and dig in. I’m not eating all these myself. I’d probably puke.”

 

Bruce furrowed his brow at the thought. “That’s not an image I needed this early in the morning.”

 

Clint turned to him, putting two plates down across from each other. His smile smaller than it had been. “It’s actually 2 in the afternoon, Doc, I don’t think you fell asleep until a few hours ago, so I let you sleep.” He felt bad for Bruce having missed most of the day on his account. Clint had slept for almost 18 hours, and Bruce had managed to stay awake for most of it. The curtains on the windows had been closed at some point, probably by J.A.R.V.I.S, when he sensed that Bruce had finally fallen asleep. When Clint awoke he didn’t want to wake Bruce but he suddenly couldn’t stay sitting any more. He had to do something. So, thus the cooking.

 

“Huh…” was all Bruce said as he came into the kitchen and sat down at the closest pile of pancakes. Clint turned off the stove, having finished the last of the batter. He turned to the table with two mugs of tea and sat down, looking somewhat regretful.

 

“Sorry you missed most of the day, Doc. I only woke up about a half an hour ago and didn’t want to wake you,” Clint said, slowly cutting his pancakes.

 

“No, honestly it’s fine,” Bruce said, and he meant it. “I’m honestly a little bit of an insomniac myself, so I probably needed the sleep too.” Clint felt he should have been surprised at Bruce’s admission, but he wasn’t; he only felt bad he hadn’t known before now.

 

“Well, Doc. Seriously. I feel great! I guess I didn’t know how bad I was until I realized what I’d been missing,” he said with a small smile. His eyes suddenly jumped up to Bruce’s, a huge grin on his face. “And look!” He raised his hand and it was completely steady. It didn’t tremble at all. Clint’s smile was worth a million bucks. He looked so happy. All Bruce could do was return the look and raise his mug in a toast. He knew the shaking would come back fairly soon. One extended night of sleep wouldn’t make up for weeks of sleepless nights, but he wasn’t going to tell Clint that now. He wanted Clint to enjoy his newfound wellbeing. Clint even started talking of how he might try to go back down to the range and test new targets he’d heard Tony developed. Bruce just sat and enjoyed hearing Clint talk with newfound confidence. And his pancakes weren’t that bad either.

 

After they both had finished their plates, Bruce took the plates and put them in the sink. He bumped into his garbage can walking over, not really being able to see very well.

 

Clint instantly stood and started fumbling in his pockets, “Wait, sorry Doc. I grabbed these off of you when I woke up. Didn’t want you to roll over and crush them or anything.” Then he pulled Bruce’s glasses out of his pocket. Bruce took them with a grateful smile. One Clint was all too happy to return.

 

* * *

 

 

Bruce had sadly been right though, about the tremors. About 20 hours after Clint’s previous “nap” as he called it, his hands started to shake again. Clint had been down at the range when he noticed the trembling starting to come back. He instantly ran up to Bruce’s room. Bruce himself had been long asleep by then but instantly let Clint in when he buzzed. Clint promptly dove under the blankets again, curling himself up, seemingly having lost all confidence he had previously in the day. Bruce simply did what they’d done the day before. He made some tea and had J.A.R.V.I.S. raise the temperature in the room. He also gave Clint a pair of sleep pants and a clean shirt to wear, since he hadn’t changed after being in the shooting range for most of the day. It took a while for Clint to fall asleep, but eventually he did, knowing Bruce was keeping watch.

 

It seemed that night they weren’t going to be as lucky as they had been the day before. A few minutes after Clint fell asleep, he started to whine and jerk in his sleep. Bruce knew he had to wake Clint but wasn’t sure how to without making things worse. He figured trying to touch him would be a bad idea so he just started talking to him. “Clint. Clint! You need to wake up, you’re safe. Clint, wake up. Clint. BARTON!”

 

Suddenly Clint’s eyes flew open and he lunged at the source of the voice! Instantly throwing Bruce off the couch and onto the floor; pinning him with his forearm crushing Bruce’s throat. Bruce started to panic. They DID NOT need the Other Guy crashing the party. He instinctively reached for the crushing appendage and tried to pry Clint off of him. Clint wouldn’t budge. His eyes were staring at Bruce filled with anger and yet were completely blank at the same time. Clint didn’t have any idea what he was doing. Bruce was growing desperate, green starting to creep around the edges of his vision. “Cli… Clint. It’s Bruce.” At Bruce’s name, Clint’s eyes seemed to flicker back to life and he instantly recoiled from where he had been suffocating Bruce. He threw himself off of him and scurried backwards. Not out of fear of the big guy, but of what he’d almost done.

 

Bruce was instantly huffing and coughing, trying to regain his breath. Clint started to get up to run away and Bruce managed to say, “ST, STOP!” and Clint froze. Bruce kept coughing as he tried to speak. “Just… **cough** Just give me a minute.” He slowly got himself together and started to catch his breath. The Other Guy was very, very mindful of what just happened but seemingly aware the immediate threat was gone. Bruce slowly sat up and started to rub his neck. He could tell it would bruise, but it’d only be there for a day or so. He healed too quickly for it to last.

 

Then he glanced over at Clint for the first time. He’d frozen with one knee bent to push himself up and the other was still stuck under him from when he’d thrown himself backwards. Clint’s head was resting on his bent knee, arms folded around him, sobbing silently. He was completely trembling, eyes squeezed shut as hard as he could, still not able to stop his tears. Slowly Bruce crawled over to Clint. Sat down beside him and pulled him into a tight embrace. Clint tried to fight him at first, but quickly gave up. He just collapsed into Bruce’s arms, trembling even harder than before.

 

Slowly Bruce started to rock them. Back and forth as you would trying to lull a child to sleep. He didn’t start it consciously, probably trying to compensate for some of the shaking. What he did start consciously was the humming. He started humming an old folk tune he’d loved in college.

 

After a few moments he begin to softly sing, _“Heading down south to the land of the pines/ I'm thumbing my way into North Carolina/ Staring up the road and pray to God I see headlights.”_ As he sang he looked down at Clint who still seemed to have his eyes clenched shut, but at least he didn’t seem to be crying anymore. _“I made it down the coast in seventeen hours/ Picking me a bouquet of dogwood flowers/ And I'm a-hopin' for Raleigh, I can see my baby tonight.”_ As he got to the end of the verse he reached over and grabbed Clint’s blanket and wrapped it around them both. Clint instantly clutched it close to his chest. Gradually he looked up at Bruce, eyes red, so much regret in his face. Bruce just tilted the other man’s head against his chest and kept humming. Slowly he felt Clint begin to relax into his hold, and stop shaking. As he got to the last chorus, Bruce absentmindedly started singing again, _“So rock me momma like a wagon wheel/ Rock me momma any way you feel/ Hey momma rock me/ Rock me momma like the wind and the rain/ Rock me momma like a south bound train/ Hey momma rock me.”_

As he looked down again he was so relieved to see that Clint had fallen asleep again, looking at least somewhat relaxed. Bruce slowly stopped swaying, but Clint instantly gave a soft whine and began to shift. Bruce started again and began humming the song from the beginning. Clint turned his head, burying it in the front of Bruce’s t-shirt, grabbing it slightly in one hand. As Bruce rocked and hummed he couldn’t help but smile at one of the deadliest assassins in the world, lulled to sleep in his lap. He slowly bent down, and softly kissed the top of Clint’s head, comforted by the smell of his hair. He turned to face the window, resting his temple on the young archer’s head, still humming away.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day was fairly awkward. Clint had slept the rest of the night without incident but had let himself out the second he woke up. Bruce awoke as the door shut behind Clint, and found he’d been wrapped in a sheet off of his bed; Clint’s blanket was missing. He later found Clint staring out his normal window looking like he had weeks prior. When he heard Bruce enter, Bruce could see him flinch and tuck himself tighter in his blankets. The memories of last night obviously coming back, him feeling incredibly embarrassed.

 

Bruce was not going to have Clint backpedal after all the progress they’d made. So Bruce just made himself at home with Clint on the windowsill. He’d grab reading from his room and join him in the living room, eating with Clint against the window. Sometimes talking about recent findings on “x”, or if he’d get an email update from Tony in Malibu he’d talk about that. And then, about 16 hours after Clint had woken up, he’d force Clint back to his room and they’d do the tea and temperature ritual. Clint had seemed okay with following Bruce’s lead up to his place until they arrived at his door where he just stopped in the door frame.

 

Bruce had made it most of the way through the house, but paused when he didn’t hear the door shut. He stood exactly opposite Clint, the couch between them holding two cups of tea. He looked at Clint and simply said, “Well?” motioning to the couch.

 

Clint pulled his blanket around him and muttered, “I can’t.”

 

“Why not?” Bruce asked simply, like nothing could possibly be wrong.

 

Clint instantly went rigid and slowly raised his eyes to stare at him. “You do remember what happened last night, right?” Clint sounded a little patronizing, but Bruce would take it if it meant some of the smartass Clint was coming back.

 

“I remember you being forced to listen to me sing, which must not have been very pleasant for you.”

 

“Bruce, I almost strangled you! I did strangle you.” Clint started to shake and his lip started to quiver. He bit harder than he’d meant to, drawing a small smear of blood.

 

Bruce sighed, slowly walked to the nearest side table and put down the two mugs before making his way over to Clint. Clint was still staring at him, as if not believing that Bruce could be fine with everything that happened. Bruce stopped in front of Clint and put his hands on Clint’s arms, rubbing with his thumbs. Clint still flinched but Bruce held him steady. Not pulling him in, but keeping him secure. He slowly took his hand and wiped the blood off of Clint’s lip, Clint tilting ever so slightly into Bruce’s touch. Bruce let his hand travel to the side of Clint’s head, rubbing his thumb along his temple. Clint slowly swallowed.

 

Looking dead into Clint’s eyes, Bruce said, “You know you can’t hurt me, right?” Clint hadn’t been expecting that and began to look away. Bruce’s hand softly pulled his gaze back to him. “I mean it, Clint. This bruise will be gone in the morning and you couldn’t kill me if you tried. Honestly I’m more of a danger to you than you are to me,” he stated simply. Clint opened his mouth to argue but Bruce just put a finger over his mouth and shook his head. Ending the discussion.

 

Bruce pulled away and grabbed Clint’s hand, pulling him to the couch. Clint slowly followed, head down. Bruce sat first, all the way on one end, but patted the cushion next to him. Clint looked at the spot then back up to Bruce with a questioning glance. Bruce just nodded his head and patted the seat again. Clint slowly sat down, not sure what they were doing. Before he could verbalize a question Bruce pulled him down so that his head was on a pillow in his lap. Clint was really unsure about this until Bruce softly said, “If we fall asleep touching, and you have a nightmare, I should be able to get you out of it more easily since me touching you can’t be a surprise.” He gave a soft smile and slowly began to run a hand through Clint’s hair. Clint closed his eyes and again leaned into the touch. Bruce couldn’t help but smile at that. Clint gave Bruce one more concerned look, but all Bruce did was laugh and reach for his mug. Motioning with it, all he said was, “Caffeinated tonight. I should still be awake when you get up.” Bruce took a long sip before putting down the mug and returning his hand to running itself through Clint’s hair. Clint relaxed again, and after a few moments even allowed himself to turn on his side, his face now partially buried in Bruce’s stomach. He reached up and tucked his hand under his chin, grabbing Bruce’s shirt softly.

 

Clint wanted to thank him again for everything, not knowing what else he could say, but before he could find his voice he heard Bruce softly start humming again. He couldn’t bring himself to interrupt, and fell asleep feeling warm and secure for the first time in months.

 

* * *

 

They both seemed to thrive off of routine. Every day they’d wake up, Clint would cook, Bruce would go to the lab, Barton would go to his window for a while, some days sans blanket if it was warm enough. Then he’d change and go to the range. By evening, Bruce could come get him, they’d eat dinner together, then Bruce and Clint would lay on the couch, Bruce reading and Clint curled up against Bruce, sound asleep. The only nights that would throw a wrench in the works were the nights Clint would have a nightmare. He never tried to choke or consciously attack Bruce again. He’d been right about sleeping touching one another. It had helped with the outside danger thing but he’d still twist and thrash against Bruce trying console him. At some point he accidentally hit Bruce in the face, breaking his glasses. He would have been more upset about it if he didn’t think Bruce looked adorable with his glasses taped together like a child. He’d made Bruce’s favorite for breakfast that morning as an apology. Blueberry pancakes.

 

The real thing that caused their pattern to change was when they were called to Assemble. Even Clint got the message, which meant it was bad if they had to call everyone in. Clint rushed off to grab his gear while Bruce grabbed an emergency pair of pants and waited at the helipad for pick up.

 

Apparently Dr. Doom thought it would be a great idea to attack while the Fantastic Four were out of town, somewhere in the Midwest. Yeah. Like the Fantastic Four were the only superhero group around these days. But he didn’t attack New York; that would be simple. He apparently wanted to head even farther away from where the FF were and headed to Boston. Tony said, let him attack, and see what happens. The second one of his bots disrupted a Sox game the people would take care of the issue for them. Of course S.H.I.E.L.D. didn’t go for that.

 

The entire ride on the Jet, Clint had been trying not to shake. Bruce noticed and tried to get him a blanket, or a heater of some kind. When he found a heating blanket in the med bay, he went over to Clint, turned it on and climbed underneath it with him. Clint looked appreciative, shooting the others a look before looking back at Banner, questioning. Banner just smiled, looking at Tony and Cap.

 

“Those two are going to argue for hours over helping Boston. Both of them being native New Yorkers, they’re essentially arguing the same point of ‘Boston Sucks’ but from two different sides,” he said with a soft smile. “And Black Widow is flying the Jet.” Looking back at Clint, he put his arm around his shoulder and pulled him in. “We’ll be there in about 40 minutes so you should probably try to catch a cat nap while you can. I’ll be awake.”

 

Clint just leaned into Bruce’s shoulder, relaxing into the warmth. He never needed to be told twice anymore. As he buried his face in Bruce’s shoulder like he always did, he mumbled, “You’re too good to me Doc,” and started to snooze almost instantly. Bruce smiled and started reading from his tablet.

 

Tony had looked over at the two of them at one point and gave a questioning glance. Bruce typed out on his pad, “He can’t sleep without someone keeping watch over him.” He shrugged. Tony took off one of his gauntlets to type a response. As he was typing, Cap called him back over. He handed Bruce the tablet and went right to Cap, without seeing Bruce’s response to the message.

 

Bruce looked down and read, “It’s not that. You realize that neither of you let anyone else touch you, right?”

 

Bruce was shocked because that was totally true. He hated being touched. Always felt like someone was going to try and force him into a cage again. Tony would poke and prod him, but Bruce would never put up with prolonged contact. That had never been an issue with Clint, though. Probably because he was so busy trying to get Clint to let him in that he…. Wait. Let him in where? This was his well-being, not just about his, well, _being_. Why was being close to Clint so important to him? He turned and looked at Clint’s sleeping face, which was currently drooling on his shirt. He couldn’t help but chuckle a little. _I guess it just is,_ Bruce thought peacefully.

 

He heard over the intercom they were 5 minutes out. Slowly he began to shift Barton to a more upright position. Saying “Hawkeye” at the same time. At that, Clint’s eyes shot open and he was fully awake. No fighting, no flailing. They’d discovered it was the best way to get him up quickly. He shook his head slightly, getting the sleep out of his eyes and he turned to Bruce who smiled. Clint returned it, patting Bruce’s hand as they stood up.

 

Tony turned to them. “Alright sleeping beauties, time to lock and load!” He hit the classic big red button to open the back gate.

 

Cap turned and started giving instructions. Apparently the Doom bots were fairly hard to take town. Intel said that either precision shots to essential electrical units or mass blunt force, ie. The Hulk, could take them down. Being robots, they were also susceptible to micro EMPs. This translated to Clint up high to take them out one at a time. Iron Man from the air to send out the EMPs and the Hulk to, well, smash. Cap and Black Widow would work on getting out survivors and evacuating civilians. Thor couldn’t be reached, though control of lighting would have probably helped.

 

As Cap was giving out the instructions and roles Bruce had been slowly unbuttoning his shirt and folding it and his glasses, putting them to the side. He slowly started taking off his shoes and socks putting them in the pile. He wasn’t used to having time to prep to change. While it certainly saved him a few shopping trips, he wasn’t sure he liked it. Knowing battle was imminent, the Other Guy was rumbling inside, just desperate to be let out. As he was stuck in his thoughts Bruce felt a hand take his and give a small squeeze. Bruce looked up to see Clint listening to Cap intently, not looking over, not drawing attention. Bruce gave a small smile and went back to listening.

 

As Cap finished and everyone started to head out of the back of the jet, Clint and Bruce stayed behind just for a moment, Clint turning to Bruce, giving his hand one more squeeze before letting go and grabbing his quiver and bow. Bruce slowly started walking down the ramp, pausing when he got to the bottom, looking at the destruction that had already been caused. _At least parts of it already looked bad before the Other Guy got out_. He honestly didn’t know if that helped.

 

Clint met him at the bottom of the gangplank, completely decked out in gear, looking both excited and reserved. He stared at the battlefield and slowly said, “Take care of yourself, Doc.” Slowly looking his way with a wry smile.

 

Bruce looked back and only managed a “You too,” before he let the Green take over.

  

* * *

 

 

So the battle could have been a lot better, but it could have been a lot worse too. Hulk was taking out two or three of the bots per swat. Iron Man was trying to take out clusters of them at once, being a little cocky, but they soon engaged their hidden rocket propulsion and started attacking him from the air. Tony looked at it like a challenge and was probably having more fun than he was supposed to. Clint ended up covering Cap and Widow more than the other two, who were generally faring okay for themselves. At one point Clint made a comment that the Hulk would probably be _really_ good at whack-a-mole. To which Tony instantly decided he needed to start the design the second the battle was over. But the battle dragged on; taking forever just due to the sheer number of bots, but it was moving along.

 

Suddenly, out of nowhere the Hulk gave a shuddering roar sounding more driven by pain than rage. Clint instantly turned his attention and started to panic at what he saw. The Hulk was overrun by Bots, grimacing in pain as he vainly tried to swat them away. Something was wrong, there was no power in his hits and he was… shrinking?

 

“Shit! Cap! Tony! Something’s wrong with the Hulk! He’s going down!” He instantly started bounding across rooftops to try and keep a visual on the shrinking Hulk. The damn cluster of Bots kept covering him and Clint couldn’t maintain a visual. As Clint got closer he saw they were repeatedly shocking him with what looked like cattle prods and were sticking him with what looked like vials of green chemicals. _Green chemicals?_ “ _Fuck fuck fuck!_ GUYS! They have Gamma Dampeners!” Instantly the comm exploded.

 

“I can’t get over there guys, I have 5 of them on my tail!” Iron Man yelled. “I’ll be there as soon as I can!”

 

Cap cut in. “Widow and I have a few critical casualties but as soon as they’re safe we’ll assist! We’re too far out, damn Widow, I got this, you go. Clint get there NOW!”

 

Clint was sprinting before Cap even finished his sentence. Clint kept running until he could get a shot at the bots. He started rapidly firing at all the Bots that had the vials. But the Hulk was shrinking too fast, they were going to kill Bruce before he got all of them. Clint could see the pink starting to return to Hulk's face as he gave one last guttural yell, “CLIIIIIINT!”

 

Not knowing what else to do, Clint jumped off the nearest building, getting as much height as he could, and shot his last EMP arrow right into the core of the swarm of bots. The second it hit, a blue light exploded and all the bots collapsed onto a fully human Bruce, hopefully not crushing him. As Clint dropped from his ledge, he did a forward tumble, landing on his feet and running over to Bruce. He started flinging fallen robots off of him, barely being able to move most of them. When he finally moved enough of them to see Bruce, he barely recognized the doctor below. He had a sickly greenish tinge to his skin. Small welts from the injection sites looked red and irritated; some were bleeding.

 

Gently he started to lift Bruce up. “Doc, come on, you need to wake up. Doc, come on, big guy!” He tried patting him on his face, staring at him completely worry stricken.

 

Bruce groggily lolled his head to the side, slowly opening his eyes. Meeting Clint’s eyes, relief swelling over his face. Clint instantly pulled Bruce into a tight embrace. Bruce would have returned it if he had the strength; he just clawed his hands along Clint’s chest and arms trying to find something to cling to. He had tears in his eyes. “Hurts…” was all he managed.

 

Clint’s heart was breaking. Bruce had done so much to help him and he was stuck, almost out of arrows, and no way to get Bruce to safety. But he had to try anyway.

 

“It’s okay, big guy, I’ll get us out of here.” Putting his hand to his earpiece, “Cap, Hulk is out of commission, Bruce is fully human and needs medical attention. Base, I need an evac immediately! Medical unit on standby! Heading to the extraction coordinates now. 5 minute ETA.” Clint’s training took over. He instantly loaded Bruce onto his back. Knowing the poor guy couldn’t really hang on. He held on to Bruce as tight as he could without hurting him, started running out of the danger zone, as fast and as carefully as he could. He was so desperate to get Bruce to safety, he felt like he could run for hours. As long as Bruce would be safe by the end of it.

 

They hadn’t gotten very far before suddenly he noticed movement to his left. He glanced over and saw two Bots coming their way. He instantly stared veering to the right, only to see more movement that way as well.

 

“Shit, guys, we’re getting surrounded here. We really could use some of that air support, Tony!” He started climbing up some of the debris trying to find a decently safe place he could try to pick a couple of them off from. He found a ledge that still looked relatively stable and climbed his way up. His legs were starting to burn from carrying the extra weight of a human being on his back. He didn’t let it slow him down, though. Once he reached the top of the ledge, he softly put Bruce down to his side, and instantly turned and started taking out Bots left and right. He knew he only had a few arrows left so he tried to use them sparingly. When he was down to two he put down his bow and drew his sidearm. He knew the bullets wouldn’t do much on the armored bots but what choice did he have.

 

“Guys PLEASE we’re getting overrun over here!!” He was getting frantic. He’d gone through 2 clips and only managed to take down 4 Bots. More were on their way. When he ran out of bullets he threw the gun to the side and grabbed his last two arrows, engaging the razor broad heads and used them as stakes. Piercing the necks of the bots as they reached the lip of the edge. Frantically he started taking out bots by hand, but was slowly getting overrun.

 

Bruce could hear through his ear piece that Tony was yelling, “I’m on my way! I’m on my way!! Don’t give up yet Legolas!” Bruce could hear the roar of Tony’s engines but when he looked over at Clint he knew Tony wasn’t going to make it. Clint was frantically trying to kick the robots back while stabbing the others with one arrow, the other broken in a Bots neck. Suddenly the other snapped and he was defenseless. The robots swarmed him and started shocking him with the same cattle prods.

 

Clint let out a guttural scream and suddenly everything went black.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bruce awoke with a groan. Sun was streaming right onto his face and it didn’t exactly feel great. He felt like he had the biggest migraine of his life, and that’s saying something. He looked down and saw he was attached to IVs, he could make out he was in a hospital gown but not much else; his eyes weren’t ready to function. But he did see some irritated injection sites; not from a normal needle. He blinked and it started to come back. The battle, the Bots. As memories of the battle started to flood back someone spoke.

 

“You really know how to save the day, Big Guy.” Tony was standing in the doorframe, across from his bed.

 

Bruce groaned trying to open his eyes all the way to look at Tony, but it was still too bright in his room. Subconsciously he reached for his glasses, not being surprised when he didn’t find them. He slowly sat up rubbing his face. “What time is it?”

 

Tony walked into the room, “Well it’s not the time that’s probably most relevant, Brucie, you’ve been asleep for 2 days.”

 

Bruce froze and shot Tony a shocked look. “ _Two days?”_

_“_ Yeah, asleep like a baby the whole time. Then again, none us were surprised that would happen after you broke physics again and managed to Hulk out with Gamma Dampeners in your system.”

 

Bruce tried to process how he could have slept for two days straight but suddenly stiffened when he heard Gamma Dampeners. He remembered being swarmed, being carried, Clint saving him, Clint. CLINT!

 

Bruce tried to shoot out of bed. “Where’s CLINT?!?” He started pulling his IVs out of his arms, scrambling to go find him.

 

Tony was instantly at his side trying to get him to stay down. “Bruce, stop, you can’t leave yet. Clint’s fine, I promise. He’s on the carrier anyway. He’s not here.” Tony finally got Bruce to stop, most of his IVs dripping onto the floor

 

Bruce was breathing heavily. He didn’t have much strength. But he rasped between heavy breaths, “What happened? Did I hurt him? Did I hurt anyone?”

 

Tony just smiled and tried to get him to lean back a bit. “No, big guy, in fact he’d be down for the count if it wasn’t for you and the other guy.” Tony smiled, passing Bruce a cup of water from his nightstand. “When you saw Clint get pulled off the ledge by the Bots, you hulked out again even though my readings showed you at a negative Gamma level. Not sure how it happened, we might need to experiment. Anyway you managed to catch him as he fell and flung the Bots into any nearby hard surface.” He paused and suddenly looked really guilty. “None of the team was able to reach you in time. By the time I got there the Hulk was already carrying Clint to safety. He then carried Clint all the way to the extraction point. I tried to take him to get him there faster but the Hulk wouldn’t let him go. I cleared the way as he brought him safe and sound to the waiting medical units. Who were supposed to be there for you, by the way.”

 

Bruce was in complete shock hearing all this, and watched as Tony chuckled as he looked out the window. “When the Medical teams tried to take Clint from Hulk, they nearly shit themselves. He put Clint on the stretcher like he was made of glass and turned to the nearest nurse, and I shit you not, said, ‘Fix Birdie.’ Waited for them to nod, turned around, took two steps and proceeded to pass the fuck out.”

 

Bruce didn’t know how to process everything Tony just said. If he really had been shot up with Gamma Dampeners. It shouldn’t have been possible for him to Hulk out, especially with a negative gamma level. Was that even possible? Plus he’d actually been able to save Clint and took him to safety? What were his injuries? Was he out of medical or at medical on the carrier? Bruce slowly rasped, “What were Clint’s injuries? Did the Other guy make them worse?”

 

“Nope, that was the thing, Big Guy, I’ve never seen the Hulk that gentle before. His only injuries were a few minor burns from being shocked and a few strains from trying to get those heavy ass Bots off you, but he was released from medical same day. He’s been by your side most of the time, but he had a meeting with S.H.E.I.L.D apparently. That’s the only reason he’s not here right now.”

 

Man did Bruce want Clint there. But he was safe. Bruce collapsed back on the bed, so happy he hadn’t made things worse. He needed to see Clint as soon as possible, to see for himself, but was content at hearing it through Tony; Tony wouldn’t lie about this sort of thing. He was so relieved his eyes started to tear. Tony slowly patted his arm, making Bruce turn to look at him.

 

“You love him, don’t you Big Guy?” Tony asked, no hint of judgment, but pride? Envy? Bruce couldn’t tell. Before he could find his tongue again Tony continued, “It’s mutual, Doc, don’t you worry. The second Clint awoke on the Jet, he refused to be treated until he found you. You were…” Tony paused suddenly looking uncomfortable. “Not knowing what was possible with the unknown Gamma Dampeners in your system, they had you isolated in the Cube. When Clint found out he FLIPPED. He stormed out of medical right to the Cube and actually hacked his way through the controls when S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn’t let him in. He stormed in and dared any of the other agents to go in after him. After that he didn’t leave your side for one second.” He looked so fond and yet annoyed as he continued, “Once Cap, Widow and I were cleared and we heard about where you were being held, we stormed in too. Kind of like a sit in. None of us left until you were okayed to be transferred here to the Tower. You’re in the new medical wing I had put in, fancy right? Love the wallpaper,” Tony said, getting distracted, or at least wanting to lighten the conversation.

 

Bruce was completely overwhelmed. His mind sputtering, jumping from the events he’d apparently missed, to thinking of Clint sticking up for him, the entire team doing so for that matter. And what Tony had asked, _did he love him?_ The idea had never crossed his mind before, but….

 

Slowly Tony stood up and walked to the door. When he reached the doorframe he said, “I’ll send Barton in the second he gets back from HQ.” He turned and gave Bruce a small, heartfelt smile. “You did good Big Guy.” Patted the doorframe twice with his fist and headed out. Leaving the door open as he went.

 

Bruce just lay there staring at the ceiling. Not knowing how he was going to process all the information flooding his head at the moment. He finally brought himself to look around the room he was in. Finding it as fancy as he’d expect a Stark medical room to look. It did have great wallpaper actually. A subtle cream and eggshell embossed design. Classy. He looked down and saw he was in a full hospital bed with purple blankets. Wait, blankets? He was covered in Clint’s favorite blanket. How hadn’t he noticed? It even smelled like him. Bruce pulled the blanket to his face and inhaled. Relieved and suddenly very calm.

 

­­­­­­­­­­

Bruce hadn’t let them put the IVs back. When they tried to push all the medical jargon on him, he gave them twice as many facts as to why he was fine and should be left alone. When they still kept pushing he played his trump card, a simple “Fuck Off” with a flash of green in his eyes. The Other Guy liked scaring people like that. Bruce had to say he found it amusing himself. They’d allowed him to return to his room, as long as he checked in once a day after that. It had been hours since Clint was supposed to be back from S.H.I.E.L.D. and Bruce was getting nervous. What if they didn’t let him leave? What if they thought he was still unfit for duty? What if they had him isolated somewhere? Bruce just pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders and stared out the window.

 

Suddenly his front door burst open with a slightly bruised, but ecstatic Clint storming in. The second they made eye contact they ran to each other, Bruce throwing off his blanket and wrapping his arms around Clint’s neck. Clint almost crushed him around his midsection, spinning fast enough for the taller man’s legs to come off the ground slightly. When Bruce practically squeaked at the sudden loss of ground contact Clint erupted with laughter. Bruce had no choice but to hold on for the ride. Eventually slowing down, making sure Bruce was securely on the ground again; he then pulled back enough to look Bruce in the eye. They both just stared at each other. Bruce stared with relief, worry and exhaustion. Clint just gazed at him smiling from ear to ear.

 

Slowly Clint raised his hand to the side of Bruce’s face, running his thumb across Bruce’s cheek. Bruce leaned into the touch and his eyes started to water. Bruce nuzzling his hand only made Clint smile wider. Slowly he leaned in and brought their lips together. It was soft and warm and everything they both needed. Clint didn’t deepen the kiss but he did pull Bruce flush to his chest, Bruce pulling him right back. They both were thriving on the warmth and security they found in another’s arms.

 

After not nearly long enough, Clint pulled back, slightly looking up at Bruce. He often forgot Bruce was a few inches taller than he was. Bruce tried to stand tall, and seemed to almost puff out his chest, trying to make up some of his masculinity after his perceived girlish behavior. As he looked down at Clint he saw nothing but pure joy.

 

Before Bruce could fumble with his words about how happy he was Clint was safe, Clint almost sang, “I got approved for active duty.” Grin only widening.

 

Bruce's eyebrows shot up, creating one of the cutest expressions Clint had ever seen. “That’s amazing, Clint!” Hugging Clint close again. They both rocked back and forth, completely ecstatic and happy to share it with the other.

 

Bruce led them to his couch, wanting to hear all about his meeting and what he’d missed. Apparently after Clint’s amazing performance in the field Cap all but demanded he be reinstated and allowed back in the field. He’d had several meetings over the past few days including a few to discuss and go over what he’d done to lead up to his vast improvement recently. Bruce blushed slightly to think that Clint had probably been talking about the two of them.

 

They’d shifted positions throughout the conversation to the normal position they slept in. But instead of Clint putting his head on Bruce’s lap, he slowly leaned in, putting his head on Bruce’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around his midsection. Bruce’s eyes just softened and he returned the embrace. Slowly running his hands down Clint’s back, having missed this. Clint had been looking at Bruce with such happiness and pride, but his face slowly softened and became a little sheepish and looked away. “I couldn’t have done this without you, Doc. Any of it. It’s…. I owe you a lot, Doc, I can’t thank you enough.”

 

Bruce slowly brought his other hand under Clint’s chin and brought his face up to look at his again. “You don’t owe me anything, Clint. I owe you for….” He didn’t want to ruin the moment by bringing up the battle but his guilt started to come back from almost getting Clint killed while he tried to save him.

 

He started to grimace slightly when Clint cut in, “Hey, stop that.” He raised his hand to Bruce’s cheek. “I know that look; don’t go blaming yourself for jack shit. I’m completely fine.” Bruce looked into Clint’s eyes, which were stern and yet soft. “Let's call us even, okay?” he said with a soft smirk.

 

Bruce couldn’t help but agree, just happy Clint was alright. “I can deal with that.” Bringing his hand to run softly through Clint’s hair, resting on the back of his neck. Clint gave a big smile again and brought himself up in to kiss Bruce again. Still soft, but more passionate than it had been before. Bruce slowly kissed back pushing just enough to be active, but not to take control. Slowly Clint began to run his tongue over Bruce’s lips and then,

 

_Grhhhhhhhhhhm!_

Both men froze. Bruce’s cheeks went bright red and Clint turned his attention to the source of the noise. Bruce’s _stomach_. Clint had never laughed so hard in his life. Bruce looked like he was going to die of embarrassment, turning a shade of red Clint didn’t think was possible without a couple coats of paint. Clint just buried his face in Bruce’s chest and hugged him tighter, tearing up from laughing so hard. As his laughter died down he looked up at Bruce and asked, “Hungry, Big Guy?” Bruce was too embarrassed to speak so Clint took that as a yes.

 

Clint disentangled himself from Bruce and stood up. Bruce went to follow but Clint stopped him. “Nope. You stay there. No matter what you say you’ve been asleep for 2+ days and you’ve just gotten out of Medical. I’ll take care of the food.” He smiled, as he got part way to the kitchen he suddenly turned back around again, “I almost forgot!” Coming back over to Bruce he said, “Close your eyes.” Bruce looked suspicious but did as he was told. He felt pieces of metal softly being placed on his face, a smile creeping up on his lips. Before he opened his eyes, soft lips joined the touch; pulling away after just a moment. Bruce opened his eyes to see Clint had saved his glasses. He must have been carrying them since the jet.

 

Bruce just looked up, nothing but deep, deep gratitude present in his eyes. “Thanks, Clint.”

 

“Anytime, Big Guy.”

 

* * *

 

 

They fell into essentially the same routine again as they had before the battle. Only now they didn’t need to raise the room temperature and they moved to Bruce’s bed after a few days. Neither speaking of it, but it was just more comfortable. Oh. And kissing. There was a lot more kissing this time around. Clint always seemed to start it, not that Bruce minded, at all. Bruce was just _reeeeeealy_ out of practice when it came to this sort of thing, so he let Clint lead. But Clint never pushed farther than kissing. He’d add tongue to the mix when they both knew they had time to themselves, but both of them had been much busier recently. Clint had gone back to a hard training regiment, getting ready for his first mission back which should be coming up soon. He’d also been training with Natasha and Steve a few times a week. Bruce had been doing research into the Gamma Dampeners Dr. Doom had used, trying to figure out how he’d been able to transform without the radiation that was normally present in his system. Life seemed to progress fairly regularly, but of course that wouldn’t last.

 

Clint had been on the helicarrier for most of the day. Not too unusual, he probably had a meeting with Fury over something. Bruce was in his place, cooking dinner for when Clint got home. One of his own favorites, Chicken Vindaloo. He was slowly getting Clint to try new foods, figured Clint would like this since it was spicy. Just as he started braising the chicken, there was a knock on his door. Bruce wasn’t sure who it could be. Clint never knocked, neither did Tony; he’d just storm in like it was the most natural thing in the world. Walking to the door Bruce thought it was probably Steve. Maybe wanted to talk about team tactics or training for the Hulk, if Tony’d managed to convince Steve that it was possible. Bruce was still dubious. When he opened the door though, there was Clint, in full battle gear, bow and quiver strapped to his back. He looked super energized, but also, sad. Instantly Bruce knew Clint had a mission. They just stared at each other, both with sad eyes.

 

“When do you leave?” Bruce asked when the silence became too much.

 

“Jet should be on the roof in 5 minutes…” Clint said softly.

 

Looking down, “How long will you be gone?” Bruce really didn’t want to look at him again. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it together.

 

“Up to a month, hopefully less,” Clint said, also avoiding Bruce’s downtrodden look. “It’s a recon mission so it could take a while….”

 

Bruce cringed at the length, but knew it could be a lot worse. Still looking at the floor, he slowly reached for Clint’s hand, giving a small squeeze. “Come back safe, okay?”

 

At that Clint looked at their hands and squeezed back. He looked up at Bruce, hearing how torn he sounded. Seeing Bruce’s eyes becoming wet, he couldn’t take it any more and pulled the other man to his chest. Holding him close. Bruce’s arms instantly wrapped around him and he buried his face in Clint’s neck. Bruce softly began to cry, tears wetting Clint’s battle vest. Normally he’d try to keep his emotions more in check, but right now he couldn’t care less.

 

Clint softly started kissing the top of Bruce’s head, using his hand to guide Bruce up from where he’d hidden his face. Kissing a trail down his temple across his cheek, finally coming to rest on the other man’s lips. Bruce had been silently receiving Clint’s soft touches but the second Clint’s lips touched his, all restraint was gone. He threw his arms around the other mans neck, crushing their lips together. Far too much tongue and teeth to be romantic, but more passion than all of their other kisses combined. Clint brought his hands down Bruce's neck, reaching around his back and hugging him close.

 

After what seemed like only seconds, Clint’s beeper went off and he instantly pulled away. He looked and his face fell. He slowly looked up at Bruce, not knowing how to word his goodbye. Bruce was just smiling at him, a sad smile but it was there. Bruce knew what getting back in the field meant to Clint. Running his hand over Clint’s cheek one last time he said, “Be safe, and knock them dead.” His smile warming as he saw Clint relax at his words.

 

Clint fully pulled back and picked up his bag of gear from where he’s dropped it, he started to turn before stopping part way down the hall, looking back at Bruce he said, “Have a cup of tea waiting for me when I get home?” smiling as he asked.

 

Bruce actually laughed at his priorities, also overly happy Clint called this home. “Always.”

 

* * *

 

 

These had been the longest few weeks of Bruce’s life. Just as he thought Clint would be home any day, he got a very short text. “Complications. All ok. Be home soon.” Bruce knew Clint wouldn’t risk breaking radio silence unless there were big complications. He’d waited this long, a few more days wouldn’t kill Bruce.

 

Or they would. It had been 2 weeks since Clint’s text and almost three since he should have been home. Bruce was going crazy. He’d barely leave the lab to try and keep himself distracted, like that’d work. He’d snap at people when they tried to ask what was wrong, even poor Steve was getting abused. It wasn’t good. Bruce had taken to having Jarvis lock his door and tell passers-by not to disturb him. Tony only tried overriding the lock on the door once. He made it in alright but started flapping his mouth as Tony is programmed to do. He and Bruce almost started having a normal conversation before Tony had mentioned that he had J.A.R.V.I.S. put lube and condoms in Bruce’s room for when Barton came back…. That did not go over well. Steve walked by to see Tony running out of Bruce’s lab, dodging flying beakers. More creative expletives hadn’t been heard in the tower, ever.

 

Bruce had had it. He couldn’t even concentrate in the lab after Tony’s little visit. Bruce thought he should have felt bad about his recent behavior, but he honestly didn’t care about anything besides Clint coming home. Suddenly he felt a sharp burn, and flung the soldering iron out of his hands. Slamming his fits on the table; he was done. “J.A.R.V.I.S., save anything productive I got done today and delete the rest of it."

 

“As you wish, Sir. But might I suggest you get that burn treated.”

 

“No, don’t fucking bother. I am a god damn Doctor I’d know if I needed medical assistance,” Bruce yelled at the ceiling. Now getting pissed at J.A.R.V.I.S., that Bruce felt bad about. J was only fulfilling his programing and didn’t deserve to be harassed as such. Bruce just shook his head and took the elevator to his floor. He was tired and should probably eat. He hadn’t been doing much of either since Clint left. Bruce never thought he’d grow this dependent on anyone ever again…

 

As he went to open his door he heard soft humming…. Bruce froze. He knew the song but froze at the thought of who it could be. He had to be dreaming, had to be, he had that song stuck in his head all the time, that’s all it was. As he reached for the door handle the humming became,

 

“ _Rock me Mamma like a wagon wheel/ Rock me Mamma any way ya feel/ Hey…… Mamma Rock me.”_

With tears in his eyes Bruce burst through the door. There stood Clint standing at the oven singing away. He paused at the sound of the door and began to turn around, but Bruce was already half way across the room by then. Clint put down his spatula just in time for Bruce to crush their faces together. Running his hands through Clint’s hair, Bruce instantly started sucking on Clint’s lips wanting access yesterday. Bruce could feel Clint grin into the assault and more than willingly gave in, letting Bruce take the lead for once. Clint just ran his hands along Bruce’s back, pulling him in tighter. Eventually he felt something wet run down his cheek and he slowly pulled back. Bruce just tilted his head down to rest on Clint’s chest. Tears sill pouring down his face.

 

Clint gave a soft smile and kissed the top of Bruce’s head, slowly rocking them back and forth. Eventually Bruce pulled himself together and brought his eyes up to look at Clint. Besides a few bumps and bruises and a band aid across his nose he looked fine. When Bruce’s eyes landed smack on the band aid, he suddenly had to stifle a snort of laughter.

 

Clint beamed even more seeing Bruce laugh. “Hey! Some boyfriend you are, burst in here, make fun of my injuries, all without even a hello," he chided, smiling the whole time.

 

Surprisingly enough Bruce didn’t freak at the use of the term “Boyfriend,” he just looked up at Clint with soft, loving eyes. Slowly running his hand over his chin and cheeks. Touching every little scrape he could see, Bruce gave a small, “Hello.” Clint just nuzzled into Bruce’s hand, his own finding Bruce’s hips. Slowly Bruce tilted Clint’s head just so, leaned in and gave the perfect kiss. No tongue, no teeth, just soft pressure, and all the love he had. Clint pulled Bruce by the hips even closer, moaning into the chasteness of it.

 

They broke the kiss but Clint just nuzzled Bruce’s neck, enjoying being surrounded by Bruce’s scent. Taking a long breath in, Clint just pulled Bruce closer to him. “God, I missed you.” Grabbing handfuls of Bruce’s shirt. Bruce just smiled and nestled Clint’s hair.

 

“I missed you too….” Thinking of the past weeks without him and shuddering at how low he’d gotten. “I don’t think I could have held it together if you didn’t come home soon….” Bruce clutched to Clint like he was a lifeline; Bruce was starting to think he really was.

 

Clint pulled back and looked long and hard into Bruce’s eyes. They were still misty and his lips were red. The only thing Clint was certain about was that he wanted all of Bruce touching him, as close as possible. He put his hands back on Bruce’s hips and pulled him into a tight embrace; when he did his knee slipped between Bruce’s legs and he felt that Bruce was half hard.

 

Both their eyes shot open and Clint got a mischievous grin. Clint rolled his hips against Bruce, who unexpectedly whimpered at the pressure. That small noise set Clint off and he started attacking Bruce’s neck. He began sucking from Bruce’s adam’s apple to the prominent muscles running along his chin. Bruce instinctively threw his head back and sucked in a deep breath as Clint grazed his teeth over his jugular. He jerked his hips slightly, sliding his growing hard-on against Clint’s, who also groaned at the sudden, pleasing contact.

 

Clint started to push them towards the couch, Bruce smiling when he felt his calves hit the edge. He pulled away long enough to give Clint a sheepish grin before pulling Clint on top of him, both falling on the couch. Laughing into each other’s lips. Once Clint started assaulting Bruce’s neck again, Bruce couldn’t keep quiet. He’d moan and whimper every time Clint would suck, or bite, or lick. Bruce kept his hands moving, one pulling Clint’s hair, trying to draw him closer, the other feeling every curve and dip of the muscles along his arms. Clint slowly brought a hand to the edge of Bruce’s pants, pulling up on the shirt and snaking his hand up his chest. When his hand brushed a nipple Bruce let out a high pitched whine, bucking into the touch.

 

Clint suddenly stopped ravaging Bruce’s throat and let out a guttural laugh. Bruce was utterly confused and a little pissed. Thinking that Clint would laugh at him. Sure it’d been a while since he’d been intimate with anyone but he didn’t think he was doing _that_ badly!

 

Bruce huffed and started to pull himself up, but Clint was pushing him back down. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry I just can’t,” and he started chucking again when he saw Bruce’s confused and flustered face.

 

“Well if you find me that amusing at this then I’ll head back to the lab.” He tried getting up again, wanting to look away to keep his eyes from watering.

 

“Bruce, you’re so fucking hot,” Clint said, grabbing his hand, trying to stop chuckling. “And you have no fucking idea.”

 

Bruce froze and just blinked a few times. He was what? He turned to Clint even more confused than he was before, raising his eyebrows. Clint had a deep smile on his face and explained, “The noises you were making were… incredible. Your face, your voice… I just, for some reason I never pictured you to be that vocal. It took me by surprise.” He awkwardly shifted, obviously trying to take some of the strain on his aching erection, stuck in his tight field pants. Running his hands along Bruce, “I just can’t believe I got you, that I get to, be with you. You’re amazing, Bruce….” He slowly leaned in, resting his head on Bruce’s brow. Bruce relaxed and smiled, still self-conscious.

 

“So you weren’t making fun of me?” he asked sheepishly.

 

Sensing they were fine, Clint poked fun,“Not making fun of per se,” Clint murmured with a grin. “Your whimpers are about the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard so it was more enjoying you being overly cute,” Clint said, leaning in for another round of kissing.

 

“Excuse me? Me being overly cute? Says the guy who looked like a walking burrito for the first 3 months I knew him.”

 

Clint furrowed his brow and pulled back, “Hey! That was a low blow, Doc!” only half mocking in his annoyance.

 

Bruce gave a devilish smile, one that made Clint’s heart pound. Slowly Bruce leaned up, saying, “No,” suddenly grabbing Clint’s hard-on through his pants and giving a slow squeeze. “This is a low blow.” All Clint could do was moan in agreement. If Bruce had sounded sexy before, Clint sounded like sex itself. When Bruce didn’t pull his hand away, Clint couldn’t help but grind into Bruce’s palm, wanting any form of friction he could get. Bruce just smirked and started sucking on Clint’s ear. While he licked and sucked his way to Clint’s lips, Bruce slowly made his hands to Clint’s belt, undoing them and slowly bringing down his fly. He reached inside and gave another small squeeze.

 

“Uuugah,” Clint managed to say instead of what he’d intended. “Damn, Bruce,” he said on his second try. Hips moving on their own. “Fuck, if you keep that up, I’m not going to last….” Trying to still his hips, and not really succeeding.

 

Again Bruce’s smile was mischievous. “That’s the idea.” Clint’s eyes went wide as he was forced onto his back, Bruce having flipped them over. Seeing Clint was somewhat in shock, Bruce took advantage, and pulled Clint free of his boxers. Bruce slowly ran his hand up and down Clint’s shaft. Thumbing the tip softly.

 

“Oh god, Doc,” Clint said, trying to keep his eyes focused on the amazing display before him. Before he could say anything else, Bruce brought his lips to Clint’s head and began to place kisses, tip to hilt. Clint’s moans were becoming less and less controlled, as was his breathing. Bruce kept pausing to readjust, and change his grip.

 

Clint shifted a little, putting his hand on Bruce’s. “Doc, not that I don’t appreciate this, but you don’t have to,” he said slowly, raising Bruce’s chin to look at him. “I don’t even know if guys are your thing so you don’t have to at all.” He gave a small smile as Bruce returned it. He didn’t want Bruce to feel he was being pushed into anything.

 

Bruce slowly leaned up and caught Clint’s mouth in his; pulling back he said, “I know I don’t have to, but I want to.” Slowly slinking back to his knees, “It’s just been a while since I’ve done this, I may be a little out of practice.” Clint’s eyes had blown wide at the idea that Bruce had done this before, but before he could verbalize a reply Bruce took him completely into his mouth, all the way to the hilt.

 

“FUCK…..” Clint instantly keened into the touch, grabbing a fistful of Bruce’s hair. Not pushing or pulling, just keeping strong contact with. Bruce grinned around Clint and began to bob his head. Once moving he couldn’t quite get down all the way to the base without gagging, but Clint didn’t seem to mind. When his neck needed a break, he’d go all the way down to the base and then swallow. The muscles clenching Clint’s length, Bruce feeling Clint throb in his throat. Clint groaned an obscene attempt at English but its meaning came across loud and clear. Bruce pulled back, used his tongue to lick around the tip and set about bobbing his head at a grueling pace.

 

Clint wasn’t going to last. “Fuck, Doc. I’m close.” Trying to pull Bruce’s face off of his dick. Bruce only grabbed his hand and put it back in his hair, his other hand racking up and down Clint’s thigh, sporadically using his nails to dig lines across his skin.

 

“Fuck! Ugh, oh God, Bruce I’m gonna, AUGH!” Clint couldn’t help but force Bruce all the way on to him, as his stomach contracted, his balls clenched and his whole body came with a shudder. As his orgasm ripped through him Bruce just tried to concentrate on breathing through his nose and enjoyed hearing Clint ride out his orgasm.

 

As Clint stopped shaking and was able to relax back against the couch, hands covering his eyes, Bruce slowly pulled back, accidentally making an obscene pop. He looked at Clint, and thought it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. Clint was flush and red, his only half softened member lewdly hanging out of his field pants, arms sweating underneath his battle vest, and yet hiding his face out of embarrassment.

 

Bruce slowly sat up straight, running his hands down the thighs of the man he adored. He tried to find the words, but suddenly, “God I love you.”

 

Bruce froze. He had not heard that correctly. He just stared at Clint, who was still hiding his face. Bruce slowly reached up and pulled his arm away. Clint had been embarrassed all right, but not from Bruce going down on him…. He was crying. Bruce looked worried and ran his hand along Clint’s chin. Clint turned his eyes and stared at Bruce with such longing. Voice shaking slightly, “I love you so much, Doc. Didn’t know how much until I got back. It’s so fucking much.” He went to cover his face again but Bruce shot up off his knees, straddled Clint’s hips and captured his mouth in his own. His tears mixing with Clint’s, they both held on to each other for dear life. Clint put his hands on Bruce’s hips, never wanting to let go.

 

Suddenly Bruce gasped, “I love you too. Whatever happens don’t let go.” Bruce was breathless, tear of joy running down his face. Clint had never been this happy in his entire life. He knew he never would be again. But if Bruce would stay with him, he’d be close.

 

The way they were situated, Clint was painfully aware he wasn’t soft anymore. And Bruce looked like he would break his zipper if he had to wait any longer. He shifted slightly and their straining hard-ons brushed again each other. Both gasped and froze.

 

“Bed. Now.” Clint practically threw Bruce off of him, grabbing his hand and dragging him into Bruce’s bedroom. Backing the Doc through the doorway, he started to unbutton Bruce’s shirt, Bruce pushing Clint’s pants and boxers completely down so that Clint could step out of them. When Bruce’s shirt was taking too long Bruce just threw it off over his head with a laugh. They couldn’t keep their mouths off of each other. Bruce tried to get Clint out of his battle vest; so many damn zippers. Clint started to laugh and helped the Doc. He threw it off and undid Bruce’s pants with surprising efficiency. He got them off just as Bruce hit the edge of the bed. Clint gave a smirk and pushed Bruce back, crawling on top of him. Bruce’s smile was just beaming as he watched Clint slide up his body.

 

Clint paused at Bruce’s chest. Flicking his tongue over one of Bruce’s nipples. He felt Bruce arch underneath him and make one of those amazing moans he loved so much. He kept sucking and twisting Bruce’s nipples until he felt Bruce shift beneath him, and felt the reminder that Bruce hadn’t gotten off yet. He slowly slid down the rest of Bruce’s body, and slowly started mouthing on Bruce’s erection. Bruce sucked in a deep breath and whined into the touch, a soft, strained, “ _Clint…_ ” escaping his lips. God, that was going to be Clint’s go-to masturbation image for a long time.

 

 _“_ How do you want to do this, big guy?” he asked while slowly stroking Bruce’s fairly impressive member. It was both thicker and longer than Clint’s and Clint’s was already slightly longer than average. Bruce just groaned into the touch, slowly arching his hips, wanting more friction.

The few times Bruce had been with a guy before, he’d been the top, but he had a feeling Clint wouldn’t want to give up control to anyone. Not that Bruce blamed him. He’d do whatever would make Clint happy at this point. He looked down at Clint and managed, “Any way you want to have me.” Bruce made eye contact with Clint for the first time since they’d been in bed. Okay, Clint lied, _that_ would be his new favorite image. Fuck was Bruce hot. Sweaty, flushed, biting a finger to try and stay quiet. Fuck was he sexy as hell. When Clint just stared at Bruce, he started getting frustrated. He couldn’t help but thrust his hips more into Clint’s touch. “Clint. Any way you want, _please!”_

 

“I want you to fuck me,” Clint said, matter-of-factly, but NOT what Bruce expected. Bruce froze and looked down at Clint.

 

“Really?” Bruce’s eyes had blown wide and Clint wasn’t sure if it was in a good way or not.

 

Clint sank a little. “Or, I mean you could do me, do you want….”

 

“Fuck yes,” Bruce said, sitting bolt upright. “I want to. Trust me,” he said, reaching to pull Clint back up to him. “Fuck, I want that so much.” Clint was so relieved and even more turned on by Bruce swearing like that. Bruce claimed Clint’s mouth and used his tongue like he was trying to tie Clint’s mouth into fucking knots. His hands went to Clint’s hips, digging in to the divots on either side. Clint started to grind against Bruce, needing more friction. Suddenly he realized though, Bruce didn’t seem like the guy to keep condoms or lube on hand. He pulled back, sitting up slightly.

 

“Lube?” Clint asked, expecting to be disappointed. He could do it without but it would probably suck for both of them.

 

Bruce suddenly froze and burst out laughing, remembering his fight with Tony earlier in the day. Clint sat all the way up looking confused as hell. The image of Clint naked, fully erect, and looking utterly confused in Bruce’s lap sent him into another fit of laughter. Clint was just too damn cute. As Clint started to look uncomfortably confused, Bruce sat up, holding Clint in place, and gave him a soft open mouth kiss. Leaning back again, running his hands along Clint’s thighs, Bruce said, “I think they’d be in the top drawer.”

 

Clint raised a skeptical eyebrow, still wondering what the laughing fit had been about. “You think? Do you not know where you put them?” He leaned over and started feeling around the side tables.

 

Bruce snorted again, simply saying, “I know where I’d put them but I don’t know where J.A.R.V.I.S. would have put them.” Running his hands up Clint’s sides, feeling his abs and muscles along his ribs.

 

Clint pulled back suddenly, having both condoms and lube in his hands, but looking shocked and amused. “You had J. buy your sex supplies? Doctor Banner!” a cheeky smile across his face.

 

Bruce just sneered, looking mischievous again. “No, technically Tony bought my sex supplies, but that’s another thing entirely.” Taking advantage of Clint’s shocked expression Bruce flipped them so he was on top, between Clint’s legs, erections brushing against each other. Both men hissed at the sudden contact, but neither were complaining. Bruce slowly began kissing his way down Clint’s chest. Grabbing the lube out of Clint’s hand, he slowly poured some onto one hand, warming it with his fingers. When he got to Clint’s navel, he swirled his tongue around, licking inside. Clint couldn’t decide if it was sexy or just ticklish. As he started to squirm he felt a finger slowly prodding his entrance. He opened his legs wider, allowing better access.

 

Slowly Bruce inserted one finger, pushing in and out slowly. When there wasn’t any resistance, he added another. When the second was fully seated, he curled his fingers, hitting Clint’s prostate directly, causing Clint to jerk.

 

“Fuck! Doc!” Clint could barely keep himself from trying to fuck Bruce’s fingers. “Damn, why am I not surprised the doctor can find my prostate on the first try.” Keening as Bruce hit it again, “Fuck, it’s like a homing beacon or something.”

 

Bruce grinned into Clint’s skin and made his way back up to Clint’s mouth, giving a devilish grin. “Though I’m sure you’re not complaining,” he almost purred as he curled his fingers again, slower this time. Clint started to squirm and murmur. Not really able to form words at the moment. He’d started thrusting his ass onto Bruce’s fingers, no longer being able to control himself. He did bristle when he felt a third finger. Bruce went slow and easy. Kissing along Clint’s neck as he started to scissor his fingers. Bruce softly kept hitting his prostate on every movement and Clint couldn’t take the teasing anymore.

 

“God damn it Doc, fuck me already!” Clint almost cried, bringing his ass up to meet Bruce’s hand. Bruce just chuckled and pulled out of Clint, who gasped at the sudden vacancy.

 

Bruce leaned back and grabbed the condoms from where Clint had dropped them on the bed. Using his teeth to tear open a pack, he rolled it onto himself, adding plenty of lube to him and to Clint, though Clint was squirming so much he almost missed. And as Bruce was rubbing lube into Clint, he suddenly got worried. What if this was a bad idea, what if he fucked this up and they didn’t work. He’d loved everything they’d done up until now and he couldn’t picture being without Clint now. And the Other Guy was… happy? That didn’t happen; the Other Guy was never happy. He… loved Clint too? Is that what Bruce was feeling? Lost in thought, Bruce put down the lube and just kind of froze. Clint thought Bruce was taking a dramatic pause and started to wriggle his ass at Bruce, but froze when he saw the look on Bruce’s face. He looked happy but, there was something sour in the back of his look.

 

“Doc… hun, what’s wrong?” He was suddenly worried. Leaning up on his elbows, “Bruce….”

 

“It’s just been a while,” Bruce said with a soft smile. He slowly looked up and made eye contact with Clint. “I’d pretty much given up on ever having sex or a relationship again, and here I am. About to fuck my boyfriend for the first time, and the Other Guy… approves.” Bruce’s smile grew as he spoke, into one of the most sincere looks Bruce had ever made.

 

Clint had been so worried something was wrong, now he just playfully wriggled his ass against Bruce’s erection. “Well, come on then, Doc, before he changes his mind.”

 

Bruce just leaned down, nearly bending Clint in half, kissing his lips softly, while slowly sinking into Clint’s heat. Both moaned at the sudden connection, the heat of the other driving their own. Bruce slowly pulled out and sank back in, as expected hitting Clint’s prostate on the first try.

 

Clint gave a guttural moan that shouldn’t be legal. “Oh God, doc, do that again.”

 

Bruce didn’t need to be asked twice. He started setting a steady rhythm, hitting Clint’s prostate on every stroke. Clint couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Groaning and moaning on every thrust, bringing his hips up to meet Bruce mid thrust. He couldn’t get enough. “Harder… ah, faster. Ugha. _Please?”_ grabbing Bruce’s arms harder than he meant to.

 

Something snapped in Bruce. He instantly grabbed both of Clint’s hands and threw them above his head, snapping his hips forward, right to the hilt. Clint yelped at the sudden new depth and froze as he felt Bruce’s teeth along his neck. Bruce set a rocket pace. Having hitched Clint’s legs around his waist he slammed into him, feeling the bed creak under the force. Clint’s mind felt like it was shutting down. His voice stopped and he just took it in. Too much pleasure, and just a touch of pain. The perfect combination a hard fuck should be. Eventually he felt Bruce’s teeth pull back off his neck and he looked up. Bruce’s face was hard with lust, just the tiniest touch of green in his eyes. Bruce looked down and growled, slamming in particularly hard, “I didn’t tell you to be quiet.”

 

At that Bruce threw one of Clint’s legs over his shoulder and turned Clint on his side. Riding Clint for all he was worth. Using one leg as a base and the other as leverage he started striking Clint with enough force to send the bed against the wall. He knew the sound had to reach other floors, but the only noises he cared about were coming out of Clint’s mouth. He was begging, pleading for Bruce to go harder, faster.

 

“Oh God! Fuck, Bruce!! Right there, Jesus. Ugh, you’re so good. Right there big guy. Ah Fuck.” Clint had thrown his hands up onto the footboard of the bed, trying to keep his head from slamming into it. The force behind Bruce’s thrusts having sent him up the bed. Fuck was Bruce good at this. If this was out of practice, Clint couldn’t wait to see what he was like reconditioned. Bruce’s thrusts sped up, his own orgasm building. “Oh Doc, fuck I need you. Everything, come on baby, Rock me. UAGH!!!” His orgasm snuck up on him faster than he expected. He’d been trying to keep it together for ages, but he didn’t realize he was that close to the edge until he was toppling over it.

 

As he rode out his orgasm, Bruce wasn’t too far behind. Feeling Clint clench around him, his thrusts became uneven and suddenly he gave one deep plunge and his whole body clenched. He made a series of moans as his body spurted into Clint. When his body stopped twitching he meant to roll gracefully to the side. Instead he just fell, head first to the foot of the bed. When had they gotten turned around? Bruce really didn’t care. He pulled out of Clint, tying off the condom and throwing it in the general area of the garbage can. As he let his arm fall back to his side, he felt Clint slide up against him, putting his head on Bruce’s chest. Bruce wrapped his arm around Clint’s shoulders and just lay there.

 

Eventually Clint turned his head, resting his chin on Bruce’s peck and just watched him. Bruce had his eyes closed, basking in the afterglow, but turned his head and looked at Clint. Clint looked totally content, and totally fucked out. Bruce thought he probably felt the same.

 

“Your eyes were green by the end,” Clint randomly said into the silence. Bruce honestly wasn’t surprised. He was shocked the Other Guy didn’t make more of an appearance. He honestly felt bad he hadn’t been more worried about it. “You even called me ‘Birdie’ as you came,” Clint said with a huge smile.

 

Bruce’s eyes shot open and he sat up on his elbows. “I did what now?!?” Suddenly very confused and more than a bit worried.

 

Clint just rubbed his chest. “Doc, you’re fine! You’re both fine. Once you, um, really had at it, your eyes changed and your voice got deeper. Once you really let go, you….” Clint blushed. “You just kept switching between saying my name and calling me ‘Birdie’. Which seems to be the Hulk’s name for me.”

 

The Hulk had been that active? That couldn’t have been a good sign. Bruce didn’t even remember any of that. He must have been too absorbed. He felt horrible, he let himself go too far! Bruce pulled back examining Clint, “Oh God, Clint, I could have hurt you! I wasn’t thinking. Did I?” As he asked he saw bruises starting to form on Clint’s torso and legs. He’d let himself go too far and Clint was…. **Smack** …Slapping him. Pinning him to the bed, and had just smacked him.

 

“Stop. Don’t you fucking dare go ruining this with guilt. I asked you to fuck me and I got one of the best fucks of my life, the bruises and bites being some of my favorite parts.” Clint looked stern, and forceful, but honest. From here Bruce could clearly see all the marks and welts along Clint’s neck. He remembered making those at least. Clint slowly leaned down and caught Bruce’s mouth in a chaste, smooth kiss more convincing than anything he could have said. Pulling back, “You didn’t do anything I didn’t ask for, and wouldn’t ask for again.” Running his hand down Bruce’s face. “Besides,” he said, sitting up, “you kind of look the same, Doc.” Clint gave a slight squeeze on Bruce’s arms, causing Bruce to jerk from a sudden, soft pain from under Clint’s grip. He looked down and saw bruises forming under Clint’s hands. Clint must have been giving as much as Bruce was. He could only imagine what his neck looked like based on how sore it felt. He settled down, running his hands along Clint’s thighs.

 

He slowly brought his hands to Clint’s hips, finding the divots he loved so much, rubbing slightly as Clint slowly rolled his hips. “That was pretty much the best sex of my life, Doc, not going to lie.” Seemed like the previous tension was gone and sarcastic Clint was back. Bruce smirked and gave a sudden jolt of the hips, hitting Clint right where he was tender. Clint gave a shudder and a gasp, latching his hands onto Bruce’s chest hair, trying to hold on. Once he knew he wasn’t going to fall off, he gave Bruce a pouty face, wondering what he’d done to deserve that.

 

Bruce smirked and slowly pulled him down. “Well, if it was only one of the best, we’ll just have to try again, won’t we.” Giving him an indecent lick along his jaw.

 

Clint’s eyes went wide and instantly he was scrambling to find another condom, most of which had been lost in the flux of sheets and blankets. Once found, they made slow, steady love. Clint riding on top, giving Bruce a break, and setting the pace himself, so Bruce wouldn’t worry about overdoing it. Bruce came first this time. With a soft groan he said Clint’s name and came deep inside of him. The Hulk again happy, but he didn’t make an appearance. Apparently satisfied. Clint couldn’t get enough of the image of the man beneath him, and seeing Bruce come undone was enough to send him over the edge for a final time that night.

 

For the first time in weeks they fell asleep in each other’s arms. Basking in each other’s warmth, finally feeling comfort they could never find while apart. As Bruce brought his arms around his lover he smiled slightly, thinking of the events of the past 7 months or so, wondering how he ended up here.

 

Without disturbing Clint, who was dead to the world asleep, Bruce reached for his phone and typed himself a reminder to go off for tomorrow. When he saw Tony he needed to thank him for the supplies. God, he was never going to be able to live this down…. He didn’t want to. Curling up again against Clint’s warmth, he pulled their favorite blanket closer around them, not needing it anymore, but simply enjoying its warmth.

 

 

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY CRAP! This story ended up being HUGE! I thought the first chapter would be around the half way point, maybe a little less?NOPE! This second chapter is almost 14,000 words!!! Christ I am apparently a huge fan of slow builds. Wow! Hopefully you all enjoyed this story! I'd never written a sex scenebefore so please tell me how I did (or a battle scene for that matter!). 
> 
> I may add another fic to this and make it a series, no inspiration yet but let me know if there's interest!
> 
> Thanks to all the readers!

**Author's Note:**

> Got the inspiration to write this fic after I posted the last chapter of "Houses in Motion." I'll be back to that one after I finish this. I wanted it to be a long one-shot but the story arch naturally had too good of a pause point here to pass up. 
> 
> The next chapter is only a day or two away. 
> 
> Please tell me what you think! And stick around for the next chapter! Things will heat up and there will be Hulkeye! Stay tuned!


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